the strange and awesome necklaces of robert mapplethorpe

what self-respecting fag boy hasn't encountered robert mapplethorpe before? we all know about the whip dangling menancingly from his butthole, the statuesque lisa lyon, the monstrous black cock peeking through the 80s powersuit trousers, the pristine flowers, and the rest of the gamut. but as i recently began a nascent journey into jewelry-making, i remembered a little-discussed genre in mapplethorpe's oeuvre: his strange and holy, tribal-cum-rosary-bead necklaces. patricia morrisroe's biography of the studly photographer, "mapplethorpe: a biography," briefly discusses the necklaces mapplethorpe made in his early 20s, when he first met punk rock poetess and goddess patti smith! (i haven't had the chance to read patti smith's just-released "just kids," a memoir of her time with best friend and cosmic companion mapplethorpe, but i'm sure it's as awesome and beautiful as both of em.)

i don't have the book on me, but i remember morrisroe describes the artists' time in the chelsea hotel as art-making roommates-slash-lovers. the two had cemented their bond early when patti, attempting to ditch a bad date, encountered robert mid-date and asked him to pretend to be her boyfriend. and, like a true fag friend, the young, studly mapplethorpe obliged!

before mapplethorpe had developed his identity as a photographer, he created, in the mythic squalor of the storied chelsea hotel, amidst the ghosts of other great artists, sculptures of relics, assemblages, and altars. as a tortured ex-catholic fag boy, mapplethorpe imbued much of these works with dark, quasi-religious/sacrilegious energies.

mapplethorpe had made or was making necklaces around the same time that he was fashioning these assemblages and little altars in his apartment. i haven't seen many of these necklaces or read much discussion about them, but the idea of them always fascinated me: strings of relics, collections of teeth and beads and skulls, holy baubles of debris from a faggy catholic boy trying to find his own beautiful, perverted grace.

as mapplethorpe fashioned these pieces, he also began working in polaroids. the polaroids, which combine a low-rent, young-resourceful-poor-artist playfulness with the austere, severe and stark symbol-making that would later become his hallmark, is the work that inspires and speaks to me most.

he later briefly combined the polaroids with his assemblage-ing impulses:

this is the work mapplethorpe made in his early to mid-20s, after leaving pratt institute, where he had earlier studied. late in his college career, life had gotten increasingly bizarre (and awesome): in the campus room he shared with a roommate, he had kept a pet monkey, neglected it until it died, and then tried to taxidermy its remains. later in his life and career, mapplethorpe continued combing the depths of his "darker," more taboo impulses (s-and-m, scat, etc).  morrisroe's biography and the film documentary "black, white, and gray: a portrait of sam wagstaff and robert mapplethorpe" argue that this exploration-slash-descent led to his HIV/AIDS death and hastened the corruption of his personal ethics.

but before whatever alleged descent, before his success and fame as an international photgrapher, and before his days in the chelsea hotel with patti smith, mapplethorpe had been something(s) entirely different: a mediocre student, a struggling army cadet, a catholic. and the polaroids and necklaces, the altars and assemblage creations mark the radical, liberating beginning of his change. his daring to be an artist, a young fag looking to conjure holy and unholy spirits, is what i read in those necklaces, sculptures and polaroids. in these faggy latter days, we can only hope that ghosts are real and fag saints like mapplethorpe are floating nearby.